


Vessel

by Exxact



Category: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Belly Kink, Canon Era, Creampie, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, M/M, No actual mpreg, Pregnancy Kink, Roleplay Scenario, Sexual Fantasy, Stockholm Syndrome undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 12:44:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14081217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exxact/pseuds/Exxact
Summary: “Our creation,” Krennic says with a somber smile.  “Our child,” he continues when Galen shifts to move away once more.  “That is how I have always thought of it, should you care to know.”Galen moans softly, pressing his body tighter against Krennic's.  The idea of bringing forth rather than taking away, the subject of creation rather than destruction from Krennic, is enough to spur him into action once more.“Our child.”Krennic informs Galen of the possibilities of starting a (somewhat literal) nuclear family together.





	Vessel

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains no mpreg, A/B/O elements, or any associated plot device beyond Krennic being excessively emotionally manipulative.

“I can’t eat this.”

 

Galen regrets the words as soon as he’s spoken them to the nutrient milk and portion bread resting impassively on his tray.

  
  
“I hardly blame you for not wanting to,” Krennic replies evenly, his eyes cool, considering. “But you must, Galen. You’ll fall behind if that brain of yours isn’t well-fed.”

 

Galen feels a familiar anxiety rise within him, Krennic’s detachment smarting all the more for it. “I already have,” Galen mutters, coaxing his anger forth.

 

Krennic’s eyes narrow, a realization threatening to form. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d suspect that you were doing this—“

 

“Three weeks on the heat dissipation system alone, not to mention the containment chamber thickness estimates,” Galen says offhandedly, meeting Krennic’s gaze. “I’ve told you many times, my mind is not—“

 

“Fuck!”

 

Krennic’s resounding shout is a relief. His anger is a constant, an irrational force that never fails to distract him from the subterfuge that Galen would give his life to conceal. He paces furiously across the room and back once more, the hand fiddling with his blaster nearly comically melodramatic. 

 

“Please, Orson,” Galen affects timidity once more, reaching out a hand towards Krennic. “You must know that I am as careful as I can be, that this is my legacy as much as it is yours.”

 

Krennic slams the flat of his palm against the table, his prior logic lost in his fury. “No, I see just what this is! This acting out—not eating, hardly working, only the barest of updates! You fucking—“

 

Galen lets out a ragged breath, desperation clouding his better judgement.

 

_One more excuse, one more lie to delay the inevitable._

 

“I’m lonely,” Galen blurts out, pained when he hears the truth in his words.

 

  
Krennic’s body stiffens. Galen finds himself peering across the table at an angle, attempting to catalogue and interpret what he can see of Krennic’s expression, preparing to implement any familiar tactics to further distract him.

 

Slowly, Krennic raises his head, as though granting Galen permission to examine him. Whatever is left of his old friend—his too-plump lower lip, his tender jaw and rounded brow—momentarily overpowers the uncertain arrogance of the man he dreads. It is as though he has transformed before his eyes—he is Orson in truth, aged as he should have, without the resentment and exhaustion that his grasping has brought upon them. Galen blinks rapidly, as though bracing himself for the reality of Krennic to return, to overtake this vision of a man that he could have loved.

 

“Of course,” Krennic says lightly, his smug voice shattering Galen’s stupor. “This—you, our project—this has always been ours. You must think that that I’ve abandoned you on this rock, don’t you?”

 

Galen folds his hands in his lap, staring once again at the contents of his tray.

 

Krennic’s smile is slightly too eager when Galen can finally bring himself to nod. “I should have known.”

 

“You’ve always needed me,” Krennic continues when Galen does not respond further, his voice low, inviting. He leans closer, and Galen does not allow himself to remember those he truly needs, tucks Jyn and Lyra and the long, sweet moments they’d shared deep within him, finally safe from Krennic’s grasp. “I’ve protected you, rescued you—helped you work towards the potential you tried to throw away more times than I can count.”

 

“ _My mind is on fire_ ,” he had told Orson once, long before loving his his wife and child had grounded him in the beauty of the universe outside of himself. “ _I am only its vessel. And sometimes, that is a difficult thing to be_.”

 

“All these years, Galen. And yet you still doubt that I care for you. I push you to be better—to work to reach your full potential. That’s what love is. I _love_ you, Galen. I love you in ways that _she_ —“

 

“Don’t ever speak of her.”

 

Galen rises from his chair before he is forced to hear Lyra degraded, before he provokes Krennic’s rage beyond distraction and into the focus that has trapped him here.

 

Krennic’s expression is nearly feral, his eyes wide. Galen is both relieved and terrified to see the sincere loss within them. His hands shake beneath the table, anticipating the ugliness he is unprepared to hear. 

 

“I’ve always known the scope of your mind,” Orson says reverently, cupping the side of Galen’s downcast face with one hand, trailing the other towards his waist. “Even when nobody else did.  You are the most brilliant, stubborn man in the galaxy. And together, we _are_ Stardust.”

 

Galen kisses Krennic as if on instinct, as though his body itself craves the reassurance that he has not yet destroyed every bond he has ever formed.

 

“You want this as much as I do.”

 

Galen looks down, the rush of the action dissipating, leaving behind only the raw loneliness that had been the catalyst for this exchange. He recalls the truth in Krennic’s motivations, what “this” is—the galaxy brought to its knees by a terror he is complicit in.

 

“Our creation,” Krennic says with a somber smile. “Our child,” he continues when Galen shifts to move away once more. “That is how I have always thought of it, should you care to know.”

 

Galen moans softly, pressing his body tighter against Krennic's. The idea of bringing forth rather than taking away, the subject of creation rather than destruction from Krennic, is enough to spur him into action once more.

 

“Our creation.”

 

He has voiced the term before he thinks to speak, loud and unmistakable.

 

“Our child.”

 

Galen’s eyes sting in the interim between his words and Krennic’s response. He gasps at the brush of fingers against them, warm and lax.

 

“Perfect, isn’t it?” Krennic whispers, years of something tightly-held seeming to dissolve from his half-lit face. “So perfect, beautiful and _ours_.”

 

A delusion, Galen knows, but one he craves more as it progresses. He does not deserve the mercy of truly losing his conscious thoughts, and he accepts his daily reality with little resentment. Even while sleeping, Dean Pysclla from the Futures Program laughs and unzips her trousers. He watches himself prepare dinner, powerless to stop his motions as he poisons Lyra’s milk while Jyn sobs against his side. Flashes of students he’d had at the Institute lie dead, bright green bolts searing through them, the blaster in his hand unmistakably its source.

 

Krennic’s moan is primal, startling Galen back into the luxury of the moment. He welcomes Krennic’s need, revels in the sensation of greedy hands running over his tunic, an eager mouth sucking bruises into his skin with a fervor he has never seen before. A terrifying giddiness fills him, a lightheaded joy that quickly intoxicates him after years that he refuses to acknowledge from one another.

 

“All of this—every action I’ve taken, everything that I’ve done for us—it’s always been for this. For us, and for this child, if you’ll truly have it.”

 

Galen nods, allowing himself a moment of naiveté. Krennic is not so thoughtful, Galen knows now, nor has he ever been. It is a symptom of misplaced ambition, encouraging him to design his reality as he once designed Coruscant’s skyline.

 

“I need you,” Krennic pleads against Galen’s collar, his desperation thrilling. “Let me take you. Please, Galen.”

 

And so Galen relents, guides them to his bed, allows Krennic’s reality to permeate him—the creation of a child together in flesh and blood and mind. There were methods the could yield such results, expensive cloning procedures for male couples unable to conceive yet desiring of a biological child. Galen could never have imagined Krennic wanting what he’d so often implied was a burden, a waste of resources better allocated to his own advancements. But perhaps this project fulfilled such needs, Galen realizes, allowing Krennic to be selfishly paternal in a way that makes Galen shiver with arousal.

 

Krennic undresses himself with shaking hands, quickly and without his characteristic showmanship. Galen’s lips part, the subtle musculature and weight of the body bared before him pleasing to him for the first time in decades. He has stirred something primal within Krennic, a need to possess him beyond his usual, furious thrusts. This is not a claiming—it is the creation of something beyond what Galen has words to describe.

 

“I want to see you fully,” Krennic murmurs. He rests a hand atop Galen’s head, brushing his temple with his thumb. “See for myself where our child grows.”

 

Galen shudders, leaning into more periodic touches as his uniform is undone. Krennic strips him efficiently, a restraint present in the set of his mouth and the tension of his thighs. Galen wraps a hand loosely around Krennic’s cock, unused to not having it rutted against him as he is undressed. Krennic smiles, guiding Galen’s hand up and down once his task is complete, as though trying to imitate the clumsiness of their first time together.

 

“We’ll build a family. Our family,” Krennic says, pressing his cheek reverently against the soft center of Galen’s belly. Galen gasps, imagining a stirring within even as he considers the foolishness of the notion.

 

“You’ll be round,” Krennic moans, kissing Galen’s navel before dragging his lips away to suck bruises into the surrounding skin. “Glowing with it, and they’ll all see what we’ve created together, just like this.”

 

Krennic looks up when Galen keens, his eyes sharp, fanatical. “Because this is what you’re made for. Just for me and just for this, and you know it.”

 

Galen is overwhelmed, hazy and lost in Krennic’s need. He is aware of fingers sliding thickly within him, but does not register the usual tension and momentary discomfort that is part of this act’s physical mechanics. It is as if his body has rebelled against him, as though, through the shields of his ethics, an unthinkable desire has breached him—to witness his and Orson’s creation realized in truth.

 

“Say it!” Krennic growls, pressing the head of his cock against Galen.

 

Galen buries his face against his chest as Krennic penetrates him in one too-brief, aching thrust, a joining of their bodies more satisfying than any they have shared before. This conception is nothing like the reality of the one he had participated in, kneading Lyra’s breasts as she rode him with a grin, anticipating her resulting pregnancy and yet awestruck by it nonetheless.

 

“Yes,” Galen finally gasps, using the length of his legs to pull Krennic tighter, deeper, closer to their goal. “I’m made for this.”

 

“More,” Krennic pants, his lips pressed into the skin beside Galen’s ear. “Need more, Galen.”

 

Galen’s words flow unbidden, uncensored. “I’ll love every moment, eating well, working from our bed. Waiting for you all the while, letting you have me however you want, so long as you don’t—ah!”

 

Krennic is taking him roughly now, dizzyingly precise in his rigor. Galen revels in it as he never has before, shouting his pleasure, begging Krennic for what he is desperate to prevent.

 

It is only once Krennic’s loud, furious climax has ended, only when he is letting out unsteady breaths into his clavicle, does Galen realize that he is still hard. He shifts upwards, jostling Krennic from where he rests against him, a hand still on his hip as though he could bury himself deeper inside him.

 

Krennic is lucid enough to understand, a determination set into his brow as he rises up from Galen’s chest.

 

“Beautiful,” he pants, wrapping one hand tightly around Galen’s cock and catching his chin in the other, forcing their eyes to meet. “Every detail, every millimeter designed by you, brought to life by us. The most incredible legacy a man could ask for.”

 

Galen whines, clenching around Krennic’s softened cock as his hips thrust rapidly upwards, as though his body is trying to resist the loss of Krennic’s seed within him.

 

“And it will be glorious, eternal. Even when we ourselves are—“

 

“ _Stardust!_ ”

 

It is voiced without conscious thought, shouted before Galen can stop himself from a bright, burning release that fades into an unsatisfied ache more quickly than any he can remember. Galen is suddenly, horribly aware of the marks concentrated on his belly, of Krennic’s joy when he looks up from where he has begun lapping at Galen’s softened cock.

 

“The Death Star,” Krennic says, his voice an ugly purr. “That’s what Tarkin calls it. But we know better. We know what it truly is.”

 

Galen tugs him upwards and kisses him, deafening his thoughts with sensation before guilt can overwhelm him.

 

Krennic stretches and yawns, settling himself onto his back. “I’ll have a proper meal plan installed here shortly. I told Tarkin that nutrient milk and those prisoner rations would never suit you, even if his engineers could subsist on that garbage. If he wants to be a cheap bastard, than I’m sure the Emperor will understand the value of this project’s engineers enough to grant me the funds.”

 

Galen’s lips twitch with humor at the thought of Krennic’s influence extending so far, shifting to untangle their bodies before he can lose his self-awareness once again.

 

Krennic lets out a proud sigh, wrapping his arms more tightly around Galen. “Thinness has never suited you. You’ll eat up and fatten up."  Galen shudders at the implication, feeling his cock twitch against Krennic’s thigh.

 

“There’ll be enough time for that later,” Krennic says, his smile weighted down with exhaustion. “Rest. You need strength to grow our child.”

 

Galen shifts once more, guiding Krennic’s hands back to his belly. He rests his head further against the pillow, as though to protect it from Krennic’s grasping hands reaching inside his mind and and withdrawing the station from it fully-formed.

 

There is nothing to buoy Galen now, to distract him from the reality that he will refuse to shy from again. He closes his eyes, falling asleep slowly with the knowledge that he will have sent two of his creations to their destruction for the sake of an indifferent galaxy.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> -This fic is heavily inspired by Acacieae’s “Stardust”. I wanted to explore their original themes myself, throwing in a little more manipulation and a lot more Galen angst.   
> -It’s lovely to be back, even if it’s just for a little while! My own scientific pursuits have been demanding lately (read: I’m in graduate school), so we’ll see how often I’m able to post new fics.  
> -Galen’s “mind on fire” quote comes directly from “Catalyst”.


End file.
